


Demon King

by annhellsing



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Blindfolds, Diavolo Suggests that Lucifer Try Subbing and it Goes Well, Dirty Thoughts, Discipline, Dom/sub Play, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Sub Diavolo, Sub Lucifer, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25077565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annhellsing/pseuds/annhellsing
Summary: “Do you want to be tied up? Diavolo likes that, are you all right with trying it?” you ask. It occurs to him after a pause that you’re waiting for an answer. Lucifer shivers.“Y-yes,” he replies, “I want to try it. And you needn’t worry about being gentle. I-I want it to hurt.”
Relationships: Diavolo (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Diavolo/Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Diavolo/Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 205





	Demon King

**Author's Note:**

> so i like sub!lucifer, sue me!!

It’s hard to ask for the storm when he insists on calm. Lucifer is a straight-backed believer in order and enforcing it. So when your fingers curl around your cup of coffee --and he wishes that the mug was his throat-- it leaves him quite shaken.

And you may know. It’s the hardest part for him.

How can he allow himself to want like that? Especially when the little things entice him. The breakfast table is in a state of painful tension, and the only one who appears to be in a good mood is Diavolo.

“Have you been sleeping well?” he asks you. And for a brief second, you turn your head not to who will be king of hell, but to Lucifer. 

You blink, watching as he stews in early-morning self-dissatisfaction. Then, the moment passes and you look away. You smile, it’s only slightly forced and reply, “You always know when I’m tired.”

Lucifer grips his teacup a little tighter. He tries not to think about what you might have been doing while you were up late. You had a nightmare, perhaps, or decided to get in a little extra studying. But his mind drifts to places dark and twisted.

He’s worried about you developing the habit of keeping late hours, of course, but Lucifer can’t help but wonder if you’d filled the time some other way. He pictures you in bed, spread out with the clock on your nightstand pointing to three am. A shape huddles between your legs, their work making you writhe and twist.

You take a handful of dark hair, with shocks of dull silver near the front and pull. You pull until the moan that breaks the silence is loud and undoubtedly his. Lucifer shifts in his seat, blinking and taking a slow sip of his tea.

“I can see it in your eyes,” Diavolo explains, “rather, under them. You have dark circles, it’s a bit worrying.”

“Oh,” your smile falters a little bit, your hand coming to rest on your cheek. “I must’ve missed them when I looked at myself in the mirror.”

“You should go to bed earlier tonight,” he says with that soft insistence that always leads you to the right decisions. “I’d hate for you to work yourself to death.”

“I wasn’t studying, I finished that up a bit earlier in the evening,” you say. The other six table-members seem too wrapped up in their own bickering to notice you mention that.

But two pay attention, the demon at the table and the one sipping tea across from you. Lucifer feels the almighty urge to ask what you were doing, perhaps under the pretense of rule-breaking. The question stays in his throat, however. He looks to Diavolo, just briefly, and watches the man nod.

“Don’t tell me you were slacking off,” Lucifer huffs. He sounds more annoyed than he intends to, but his thoughts have been quite annoying.

“Leave her be,” Diavolo interjects, looking stern in a way that is nothing short of mortifying. And exciting. “I’m sure she just couldn’t fall asleep. It happens to everyone.”

“That’s right,” you say, looking to Lucifer again. Your eyes are narrowed, you fix him with a harsher stare than before. He feels pinned down.

He’s not between your legs on the bed any more, he’s on his back. You have his wrists held tight above his head, you force them up and back against the bars of your headboard. With a scarf that was not in your fist before, you tie him up tight.

“I get so in my own head sometimes, I think too much and I can’t sleep..” you say, “A little bit like you, Lucifer. Don’t you think?”

He swallows, keeping his expression neutral. But it’s difficult, for in the back of your mind you’ve picked up another scarf from the nightstand. You tie it around his head, over his eyes. He blinks in the face of your teasing expression.

“I promise I won’t stay up too late twice in a row,” you say. The spell is broken, but the little curve of your smirk remains. The heady silence that swims around Lucifer’s head blocks out the way his brother’s argue. You’re smiling only for him. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“We will anyway,” Diavolo says. But the pitch of his voice is lower enough so that only three can hear.

Breakfast ends shortly after, with the sound of feet shuffling towards the hallway ending conversations. Lucifer sits in the dining room longer even than Beelzebub. Almost as long as you.

You look at him again just before you leave. The two of you are mostly alone, the door closes on Asmodeus with Mammon close behind.

“It’s you who’s starting to worry me,” you say, cocking your head to the side. That awful smirk from before returns with a force that infuriates him. “You’ve been stealing glances since I woke up. Is it the dark circles or something else?”

“You happen to look ill,” Lucifer lies. You look beautiful, sitting across from him. Tired and teasing, but so very beautiful.

“I was with Diavolo last night,” you show teeth when you smile. “I made him very happy, did he tell you about it?”

You fill your mug halfway with the last of the coffee in the pot. You stir in two sugar cubes. It becomes clear after a moment that he isn’t going to answer you, which makes you shrug.

“The way your eyes glaze over every now and again, I’ll say he did,” you mumble. You watch the door close on Mammon and decide to stand yourself. “But I wonder, are you imagining what I did with him or what I would do with you?”

Maybe a little of both, you think with a devilish glint in your eye. As you pass by his chair and straight posture, you drag your hand over Lucifer’s shoulder. You curl your fingers, very briefly, around his neck and lean in.

“Your lord says he wants you to come and see me tonight,” you whisper. “He’ll be there, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

You hardly stay long enough to feel his skin go hot. At the very same time, a shiver shakes his shoulders. Lucifer doesn’t look as you take your leave, he only sets his teacup down. His hands were trembling.

His intrusive thoughts bully him for the rest of the day. For the most part, he’s annoyed to find himself thinking about every sordid detail that Diavolo shared that morning--- but with him in place of the one-day-king. 

Standing up from the breakfast table is an exercise in misery. He can still feel the weight of your hand at his throat, the front of his trousers are so tight as to be uncomfortable. He does his best to go about his day with that heavy, heady warmth between his legs-- it’s more difficult than he anticipates.

The sensation is almost unfamiliar, which doesn’t sit right with him. It isn’t as if he’s inexperienced, Diavolo keeps him very busy, but the sway you hold over him is painfully new. And it dominates his waking thoughts.

He busies himself at his desk, but has to pause when the daydreams take a turn for the fantastic. As far as he’s been told, you’ve never bent anyone over their desk and had your way with them like that. But when he pictures it, it’s vivid enough to distract from any meaningful task.

Lucifer lives on auto-pilot. His mind is hostile territory and you’ve made yourself the enemy. He’s waited too long, denied himself too much for you to be a gentle lover. You hold him down, you bring the pain. All he can do is moan.

That kind of empty-headedness is enough to inspire jealousy every time there’s a knock on the door. He wishes very badly, though he would never admit it, that you were on the other side. That you knew what he was thinking and came to rescue him from his work day. 

But it’s Levithan. Then Asmodeus. Then everyone in hell, it seems, except for you. That night can’t come fast enough.

\--

You saw the look of dread at being found out on Lucifer’s face. It hurts to see him insist on lies, concocted by his greatest sin. You know as well as he does that he has a restless mind, but you don’t expect that he’ll be in your bed tonight.

Surprise, surprise.

“You kept us waiting, didn’t you?” Diavolo beams from his place on the sofa, dressed down in an unbuttoned shirt with an open fly. Lucifer lifts his head very sharply, his cheeks turning a brick-red.

“I’m never late,” you smirk, “the two of you are just early. And I’m worth waiting for.”

Diavolo sits up a little straighter, unabashed delight in his eyes. You drop your shoulder bag and approach with a sway of your hips. 

Lucifer makes himself scarce, sitting back in the corner of the sofa when you take his lover’s face in your hands. You kiss the king in hell, dragging him towards you and biting gently on his lower lip.

When you pull away, you turn your eyes to the demon trying to look smaller.

“Are you all right?” you ask. And you’re wearing that expression he’s so frightened of. Loving and concerned.

“He’s a bit shy,” Diavolo interjects. You nod, but don’t look away.

“Would you like a kiss, Lucifer?” you try, tilting your head and motioning for him to come closer. You’re different from how you looked at breakfast. Softer, but still firm. It makes his cheeks flush.

“Y--” he cuts himself off. You’re moving across the couch, cornering him against the armrest. He inhales sharply when you reach for his chin.

“I’m going to kiss you, okay?” you continue. His eyes go wide. He nods.

Your mouth is as soft as your voice. How many times has he wondered what it would be like for you to press up against him? He’s imagined you breathing the way you are now, smiling against his lips. Your unspoken promise is kept, you’re very gentle with him.

When you pull away, the colour of your lipstick clings to his mouth like a sigh. His shoulders loosen, he feels lighter than before. Still terrified, his stomach is host to a thousand butterflies, but he’s somehow unburdened.

“You’ve been so shy around me, lately,” you say, your hand moving slowly down his jaw. “That is, when you haven’t been extremely rude. Wouldn’t you like to apologize?”

“Y-yes,” he stutters, “you have my apologies. It was immature of me to be so inhospitable.”

“Hm, so polite,” you mumble. To Lucifer’s immortal shame, he notices you say that more to Diavolo than him. “Do you want me to forgive you, dearest?”

“More than anything,” he sighs, “I’m sorry.”

“For?” you ask. And the edge in your voice that makes his stomach flutter returns. He swallows hard.

“I am very sorry for saying that you were slacking off,” he replies. You nod.

“Very sincere, good job,” you smile, “I forgive you. Come here.”

He’s only distantly aware of what you say, because you take hold of his throat the way you did at breakfast. You tug him forward and kiss him a second time, pressing your tongue to his lower lip. Lucifer doesn’t hesitate, he opens his mouth and grants you entry.

“You’re being much nicer than this morning,” you comment, “ did Diavolo give you a lesson in manners?”

He looks over your shoulder, half-glaring at the demon sitting behind you. He shrugs and gives a wide smile. Lucifer hesitates, then nods.

“But you still look so scared of me,” you say, “that won’t do. Look at me.”

It takes a second for him to pry his eyes away from where the hem of your skirt ends and your shirt begins. Making eye contact at a time like this, with your lipstick on his mouth is unspeakably difficult.

You guide him with the hand still at his throat, pulling him away from the couch corner. Lucifer’s eyes, dark and still so full of pride find yours.

“Do you want this?” you ask. He wonders if you ask Diavolo this many questions. And then he imagines that yes, at some point, you must have. It’s odd business, being cared for. But you seem sincere in not wanting to hurt him.

“I do,” he says after a long sigh. “It’s a challenge for me to admit to it.”

“I know,” you say, “but you’re doing so well. You’re making me very proud.”

His eyes widen a fraction, taken aback by that. He’s barely done anything, he thinks. You’re far too free with your praise. But any desire to deny what you say dies quickly. 

Your thumb rubs gentle circles over the side of his neck. Instinctively, Lucifer leans towards the source and presses himself against your palm. When you’re sure he’s comfortable, you give his throat a small squeeze.

And though he tenses up, he doesn’t tell you to stop. He leans in, hoping you’ll apply more pressure without him needing to ask. One embarrassingly long moment later confirms that you won’t be doing any such thing. He grits his teeth.

“More,” he sighs. “I want more.”

“You can have more,” you start, “if you say please.”

“You’re kidding,” he huffs. His complaint is so quiet as to almost be inaudible. But the moment he considers being difficult, he catches Diavolo’s glare out of the corner of his eye. “Please.”

Immediately, you tighten your grip. Lucifer gives a very startled squeak, but his eyes fall closed in surprised pleasure. He nods like he’s been granted his greatest wish.

“So, you like a little pain,” you say.

“I did mention that,” Diavolo pipes up. You look at him over your shoulder, sharing a smirk.

“I wanted to see for myself. It’ll be fun having someone I can punish,” you lean in and put your mouth to Lucifer’s ear. “Especially considering you’re so fond of discipline.”

He shivers with his whole body, uncaring if you notice. Trying to hide something like that when he’s already so nervous is almost impossible. But the sight seems only to make your smile more sinister.

“I will never hurt you without your permission,” you say, “which is why safewords are important. Do you know what that means?”

“That I need to think of one,” Lucifer replies. You bite down on his earlobe, making him suck in a breath. “Human. If I say human, you stop.”

“Of course, dearest,” you say, “do you want to use it now?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Not at all.”

“Good,” you beam. 

You hear movement behind you, Diavolo’s shadow looms at your back but you barely flinch when he hugs you. His arms are strong, they curl around your chest and pull you back against his.

“I thought you said you’d behave,” you say, exhaling softly when he kisses your shoulder. “I know I’m neglecting you, I’m sorry.”

Lucifer watches with almost rapt attention. His mouth hangs open very slightly, a mixture of surprise and lust hiding in the centre of his eye. He was told by the man himself that you hold some kind of lovely power over him, but watching it is very different from stories.

You nudge your nose against his cheek, giving him a soft kiss. The look in your eyes makes Lucifer strain with jealousy. He wants it in a way he’s never wanted anything before, without thinking he reaches up and puts his hand over yours.

He puts pressure on your fingers, clearly wanting them to tighten around his throat. That beautiful smile, that softness in your face shifts.

“Are you really so impatient?” you ask, snapping with more force than he expects. But through it all, Lucifer sees the sparkle in your eyes. “Diavolo has been so good and the moment I take my eyes off of you--”

Lucifer’s hand falls. His mouth is still slack and he finds himself wanting to pose an idea, one that makes his fluttering chest turn to ice.

“Forgive me,” he shivers when your lip quirks up at the edge. “Perhaps I-- I do need discipline.”

And he thought only you knew the magic words.

Your eyes light up, holding so much joy that it could make him burst. He imagines this is how Diavolo feels when he takes up his place between your knees. Lucifer feels lucky, just for a moment, to have a little of your love. Just a little of your grace.

“Well, since you admitted to it--” you start, grinning from ear to ear. You kiss the man half-folded across your back, patting his cheek with so much affection. “Undress and wait on my bed, there’s a good boy.”

Lucifer straightens up under your hand at the last two words. That jealousy, hot and overwhelming returns. He has a single-minded ambition, to hear such a name used in reference to him.

You notice his shift, but say nothing out loud. You only give him that same, sweet smile and give his throat a gentle tug towards you. He follows, trying his best to forget at how his pride screams. This will be good for him, he thinks. He’s wanted this for so long.

He’s needed it for even longer.

You guide him over your lap, not necessarily the position he was expecting-- but Lucifer is far from stupid. He swallows again, shuts his eyes tight and then remembers to relax. To breathe. You would want that for him.

“It’s the first time, so I promise I won’t hurt you,” you say, and then add, “much.”

He has to stifle a gasp when you take your hand from his neck, instead reaching for his arms.

“Do you want to be tied up? Diavolo likes that, are you all right with trying it?” you ask. It occurs to him after a pause that you’re waiting for an answer. Lucifer shivers.

“Y-yes,” he replies, “I want to try it. And you needn’t worry about being gentle. I-I want it to hurt.”

You coo, the sound almost embarrassing to him. You hold both of his wrists at his lower back with one, loose fist. Your other hand comes to rest on the curve of his rear. You give two, soft pats over the back of his trousers.

“You’re allowed to be fragile, Lucifer,” you say, quiet enough that only he can hear. “I want to do what’s right for you. Will you trust me?”

“I will,” he sighs instead of asking why you have so many questions. It didn’t occur to him that his opinion on the subject might matter.

“Good,” you grin, “before I tie you up, I’m going to take your pants off.”

It’s said so casually that the full weight of that doesn’t hit him until you’ve let him go. His stomach drops and he instinctively raises his hips away from your leg. As if anticipating this, you say nothing but return your hand firmly to his backside. You push down until his crotch and his ignored, blooming arousal make full contact with your thigh.

You undo the button and the zip at the top of his trousers, nudging them down and asking hardly anything of him. You know how vulnerability startles him. The best thing you can be when he’s nervous is independent, stable and strong. This is what he came here for.

“How many strikes have you earned?” you ask when his pants are around his knees. You’re not surprised at all by his choice of demure, black briefs.

“How many--” he cuts himself off, the confusion on his face as he twists around to look at you is adorable. “I don’t know what you’d like me to say.”

“We’ll start with twenty,” you say. He braces himself.

“Are you going to whip me?” he asks, the fear in his voice now palpable. And to his great surprise, you giggle. It isn’t a cruel sound, nor a particularly menacing one. It makes him feel quite warm.

“No, dearest,” you manage when you’ve stopped laughing, “I’m going to do something much nicer.”

He still braces for pain, but you catch him off guard by reaching up and untying the ribbon from the back of your head. Your hair falls around your shoulders, looking lovelier than he expected. With that thin length of silk ribbon, you tie his wrists loosely together.

“Not too tight the first time,” you whisper, “if you enjoy yourself, I can use something less yielding.”

He only nods, turning back on his stomach and looking at the upholstery. Surely now you’ll administer his punishment, he thinks.

But again, you diverge from his expectations. Your hands, now free that his wrists are bound, move to his shoulders of all places. And instead of coming down hard, they settle on either side of his neck. He shivers when you begin to squeeze.

To his shock, you’re rubbing his back. The sensation is less intense over a few layers of clothing, but he finds himself more inclined to listening to his instinct to relax. You take your time, moving slowly down his spine to his hips and raised ass.

Over his briefs, you rub and touch to your heart’s content. Lucifer almost lifts his hips again out of embarrassment, at this angle you can definitely feel his half-hard cock pressing into your thigh. But, perhaps that might be something you enjoy. Oh, he hopes it is.

You move down his thighs and then back up again, pressing your fingers into him and making him sigh. A small part of him hopes that this never ends, a much larger part grows impatient. He gives a wiggle of his hips that’s almost automatic, something he can’t stop before it’s happening. And he hears the sound of your laugh over him again.

“All right, we’ll start,” you say, “let’s just get these out of the way.”

He knows what ‘these’ are immediately. Your finger hooks in the elastic of his briefs, tugging sharply downward until his ass is exposed. He lifts his head sharply, looking at Diavolo who’s now naked on the bed. Lucifer’s mouth falls open, watching as his lover pumps his cock in his fist.

“Eyes down,” you warn. Lucifer does as he’s told. “Twenty, I think I said? Keep count for me.”

He barely has time to nod. Your cupped palm is brought down firmly on his left cheek. Lucifer bucks, but not nearly as much as he imagines he might’ve without the massage. Dutiful as ever, you needn’t remind him,

“One,” he sighs, “thank you, my lady.”

There’s a laugh from the bed, belonging to Diavolo this time. He raises his head with the intent to glare, but finds himself unable to do much more than look longingly. Your hand at the back of his neck pushes him down again.

“Aren’t you a natural, dearest?” you praise, “Good boy.”

He’s stripped of any language that he knows, of any way to tell you how you are loved. It was a bone-deep desire to hear that, he just didn’t imagine it would be so soon. He goes still, only looking up every so often to see if Diavolo still finds the scene arousing. Inevitably, he does.

Strikes two through nineteen --thank you, my lady-- pass by in a blur. His ass is pink when you bring down your palm for what he hopes won’t be the final time. Lucifer’s legs are already parted as far as his trousers will allow, to accommodate his now-painful erection.

But once again, you’ve caught him peeking over the armrest to the bed. There, the king in hell teases and touches himself with the full knowledge that he’s not to come unless under your hand. Lucifer is transfixed.

“Is he in charge here?” you weaponize your question this time, catching him off guard and making him turn sharply. He shakes his head. “No? Then who is?”

“You are, my lady,” Lucifer feels a weight lifted from his chest to admit that. You smirk.

“Sit up, get on your knees,” the authority in your voice has him scrambling to comply. With a small amount of difficulty, he pushes himself up as you instruct. 

You shift so that you’re in front of him, blocking his view.

“Really, Diavolo,” you scold as you undo Lucifer’s tie. “You shouldn’t tease him like that. Hands off until I tell you otherwise.”

“I was anticipating that,” Diavolo replies, but makes a show of taking his palm off his cock. You nod.

Lucifer waits through the whole exchange, barely able to close his open mouth before you turn back to him. His ass is warm, the sensation more pleasant than the general imaginations at breakfast. It feels real, a little painful but earned. He decides to trust, even with no basis, that you love him.

Why else would you care enough to do this to him?

You tug his tie out from his collar, holding it in front of his face. That smile of yours is back, he begins to realize it rears its head whenever you’ve had an idea.

“Since you’re having so much trouble with staring, I’m using this to blindfold you,” you state like it’s everyday. Lucifer does his best not to openly resist, no matter how much instinct demands he try.

He wants it, he knows it. His safeword is in the same place it’s been since the start, nowhere near the tip of his tongue. He nods, even though he knows you purposefully didn’t phrase it like a question.

The last thing he sees is your pretty face, disappearing behind red silk. Pressed so close to his closed eyes, it looks black as pitch. You tie it tight at the back of his head, unlike his wrists, so that it won’t slip an inch.

“Good boy,” you reward again. He leans in when you pat his cheek, seeking out your affection like he’ll die without it. “All right, let’s get you lying down again.”

You help him this time, positioning him over your lap again with more vulnerability than he knows how to allow. But closing his legs is cloyingly painful, it does nothing to help the situation.

Nor does your searching hands.

“You didn’t make a sound except to count, dearest,” you muse. “I was worried.”

“I’m fine,” he replies. His voice sounds strange, not distant but distracted. Your palm presses against his rear, making him gasp.

“There we are,” he can hear the smile in your voice. “Maybe I shouldn’t make you count for the next set, so you can focus on moaning.”

“I wanted to,” he says through gritted teeth. From the bed he can no longer see, Lucifer hears Diavolo’s throaty scoff. “As I said, such things are-- difficult for me.”

“Why don’t we dispense with counting, then?” you sound softer, now. Your fingers are warm but gentle, dragging over his hot skin.

“Will you strike me again?” he asks, wondering if he should prepare.

Your hand in his hair cuts him off. It’s neither rough nor seeking, you brush your fingers over the back of his head, the gesture is surprisingly calming.

“Lucifer, it’s all right. Just relax.” you say, “You’re being very good, it’s starting to worry me.”

“I’m enjoying this,” he replies, “very much.”

“I’m glad, but I’m here to make you feel good. You know that, right?” that concern from earlier comes creeping in. He’s oddly pleased to hear it, to be cared for.

“I do,” he says after a pause.

“And since you’ve been on your best behaviour, I think you’ve earned the right to lie still while I take care of you.” your tone has an air of finality that he agrees with. Lucifer’s shoulders go slack.

He gives an appreciatory grunt when your other hand moves lower. No longer skirting over his bare ass, it reaches between his parted legs. Though he does seize up when you cup your hand around his straining cock, the spasm is not as harsh as it might’ve otherwise been. He settles soon enough, letting himself rock his hips against your hand.

You say nothing, not even to tease him. Perhaps you’re worried he may retreat in on himself if pushed too far. Lucifer finds himself wanting to retaliate, to show thanks in the only way he can think of.

He moans.

The sound shocks you, evidenced by your hand in his hair going still for a second.

“He doesn’t part with those very easily,” Diavolo pipes up. You give him an exasperated smile over your shoulder, still idly exploring your dearest.

“Yes, I know,” you reply. “I’ll have fun with you in a little bit, don’t tease him.”

He lies back down with no further complaint, thankfully. As much as you know him to be a handful, Diavolo seems more than content to behave while you help Lucifer adjust.

You turn back to the demon in question sprawled out on your lap. While you’d love to coax another moan from him, you decide to move on.

Lucifer chokes on a whine when your hand moves down to his thighs, feeling soft skin over hard muscle. And then you retreat to his bared rear again, squeezing and patting with a gentle fascination.

You push your fingers under his shirt next, nudging the fabric up to reveal some of his toned lower back.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper. Goosebumps stand on the back of his neck. “You did so well, I’m very impressed. You were very good for me.”

Lucifer makes another sound, quieter this time and completely unintentional. His face is already flushed, but he swears he turns redder.

The blindfold makes things easier to focus on. It’s harder to cling to the distracting sight of pleasing Diavolo when all he can feel is your hands on him. It does its job, he supposes, as a reminder that he’s here for his own pleasure.

His cock twitches, it throbs with his heartbeat. This morning, he was fairly certain that this would be pleasurable. Now, he knows it completely.

“I’m going to start up again, dearest,” you tell him. “You don’t need to count, but I’ll give you fifteen.”

He lets out a breath, releasing the anticipation he didn’t know he’d been hoarding. Your hand stays in his hair, the grounding presence helping him stay calm.

“Thank you, my lady,” he sighs.


End file.
